You Are My Friend

Every time I go to that one supermarket at the edge of town, the man in charge of the carriages shakes my hand.

I’m pretty sure his job is just to bring them back into the store but when he sees me he comes right over smiling. We have made friends, he and I, in spite of the language barrier. (He speaks two languages; I only speak one.)

“Ah you, my friend!” he called when he saw me yesterday morning as I left the store. “Ah, you are my very good friend!”

“I am your very good friend” I agreed as he commenced pushing my cart for me in the general direction of my car.

“You buy this greens?” he asked, pointing to a potted plant in the top shelf of the cart.

“Yes.” I said.

“How much moneys?”

“Five dollars,” I said.

“Very good so nice thanks to God,” he said, gesturing toward the heavens.

We reached my car but as I bent to help him  unload my bags into the trunk he held up his hand in a warding-off gesture.

“I he’p you!” he said. “You are my friend.”

“We are friends,” I agreed and so only reached only for the small houseplant we both liked so much. “I’ll just take this up front with me.”

“As well the ice cream!” he said, handing me my quart of Mocha Almond.

When we got done unloading he took my both hands, “If you need he’p any places, in the house, with clean, with any things, you call me, yes?”

“I will call you” I said.  We shook hands once more.

Then, instead of climbing into my well-packed car, I began walking across the parking lot towards the liquor store.

“You go?” he said looking confused.

“I go to buy some wine.”

“Ah!” he cried

“Ah!” I echoed.

“Next time I see you!” he called, waving gaily.

“See you next time!”  I called back, assuming in my vast American smugness that I could teach him by my own sterling example what the phrase really was.

But then I stopped short of that assumption because…. well, because maybe he meant it just the way he said it.

The next time he would see me, just like he does surely “see” me every single time I come to that parking lot. And how nice is that? Because how often do any of us get really seen in the course of our busy rush-rush lives?

Advertisements
Posted in Uncategorized

7 thoughts on “You Are My Friend

  1. i love this. i was just talking about this with my friend yesterday… the smile you give to others means so much more than you think. and it’s just wonderful to find the wonderful with others. anywhere.

  2. I love this story. You have such an awesome ability to write about touching moments without making them too syrupy. I want to be his friend, too.

    1. Thanks Claire. Tell me if I start being syrupy ever. That would be the first sign of mental changes for me I think..

      Keep fighting the good fight down there in F-L-A. Support our guy!

  3. If his display of friendship is genuine, shouldn’t it be relatively consistent and not timed to when opportunity knocks, i.e.,when the cart is full?

    I did cringe when I first read the part of him asking for work around the house. NEVER invite strangers into your home without serious safe guards. Suggest to him that he seek a temp service for jobs and work through them.

    My middle class neighborhood has a large community of Asian/Indian people and many are very openly friendly but never suggested anything like this gentleman.

    Be kind but careful.

    1. I have hired people I don’t know well to come into my house. How do you avoid that if you contract for a cleaning service ever?

      I hear you though Frank. And thanks for helping me figure out how to look at this …

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s